English poetry

Poems in English


'Tis not that Dying hurts us so

‘Tis not that Dying hurts us so
‘Tis Living hurts us more
But Dying is a different way
A Kind behind the Door

The Southern Custom of the Bird
That ere the Frosts are due
Accepts a better Latitude
We are the Birds that stay.

The Shrivers round Farmers’ doors
For whose reluctant Crumb
We stipulate till pitying Snows
Persuade our Feathers Home.


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Poem 'Tis not that Dying hurts us so - Emily Dickinson